The Heir
by Theburntleaf
Summary: What would have happened if King Clarkson and Queen Amberly never died? The castes still exist, Ahren is to take the throne after Maxon. He is supposed to have a selection soon for a distraction. But instead he runs away to France for his true love. Now his older sister Eadlyn is to be Queen someday and is told she needs a husband, to hold a selection, but she loves a Six. REWRITE.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **W** hen I was old enough, my father, the King, told me about his Selection.

He had no need to tell me the whole story of his Selection, because it had been my lullaby growing up. I knew all about how they met, how they fell in love. It's your typical prince saves the damsel from a life of destitution story. My mother had been a Five growing up in Carolina, and growing up in an artistic family she had learned music as her trade. But even though her family was full of talent, they sometimes wondered if they would be able to make enough money to pay the bills to power their home or feed their family. That had all changed when she had been plucked from obscurity as a contestant in the Selection. They fell in love, he chose her as the One, and their fairy tale was complete... Or so I had previously thought. While ultimately their story ended in a big white wedding, with a little prince and princess born shortly after, there's a much darker side to the tale.

It was the last day of the Selection. It was down to two girls, Mom and another girl named Kriss Ambers. Dad was about to announce his who he had selected as his bride when they were attacked, and everything turned to chaos. Southern rebels had infiltrated the palace dressed as guards, and when they opened fire there had been a moment of confusion before fight-or-flight kicked in. Hundreds of guards were wounded and killed, some stabbed, bleeding out. Others shot at point-blank range. The blood curdling screams and gunshots were the only audible sound.

Girls that had been sent home earlier in the Selection had returned to celebrate, but many never were able to return home again. A girl named Janelle from Likely, Emily from Labrador, Natalie from Bankston, and Emmica from Tammins had all been killed in old blood. Even one of my mother's beloved maids hadn't made it. And my entire family had almost perished with them...

My grandmother had taken a bullet for my grandfather, but he had still been shot multiple times.

Dad had been shot too. A rebel had been aiming for Mom when Dad jumped in front of it, and it hit him below the left shoulder, near his heart. While he was bleeding out all over the floor he had forced a palace guard to leave him behind and get Mom to safety. He had faithfully followed through with his order, and returned to the gory scene to retrieve Dad, somehow still alive.

Even after the guards overcame the rebels, there was still pandemonium. The King and Queen of Illéa were clinging to life in the trauma unit of the hospital wing, and the crown prince was inflicted with a gunshot wound just inches away from his heart. The best doctors and surgeons in Illéa were brought in, and they all predicted that Dad would be fine, but Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't make it. They had done as much as modern medicine would allow, tried replacing all of the blood that they had lost, but none of them gave either of them a chance of survival.

But miraculously they both beat the odds. Grandma woke up first, and recovered well. Grandpa remand in a coma while Dad and Grandma recouped. He took a turn for the worst one night. Grandma, loyal to a fault, never left his side. Everyone was so sure he was going to pass, so the palace was getting ready to hold a special _Report_ saying that the King was dead, along with arrangements for a state funeral and a date for a coronation of the new king.

But somehow he lived.

Dad remained the crown prince, and he and mom married once Grandpa was well enough to attend. Their fairytale complete…

But their story continues with me, and I ended up causing a lot of trouble from the start simply by being born seven minutes before my twin, Ahren. Mom and dad insisted that the law should be changed, making me the rightful heir instead of the outdated tradition of the first born male inheriting everything. But with Grandpa still in control, nothing changed. Ahren was named heir apparent, and I was the spare, only allowed to ascend the throne should anything happen to Ahren.

Things were much more simple back then, before I even knew what heir, or being royal even meant. We were out of the spotlight as children, and while the public loved to eat up pictures of us, we were left alone for the most part. When Dad and Mom weren't busy with engagements we were just like every other normal family... Until mine and Ahren's fifth birthday.

Grandpa had a stroke, a major one. The doctors told him it was because of the damage from the attack, and the stress of being king was becoming too much for his frail body. If he didn't slow down, he was surely going to die. But his old injuries weren't the real threat to his health, it was letting go of the crown. He had roared at the proposal of letting Dad become king, but after tearful pleas from Grandma, he reluctantly agreed.

My father has been king for thirteen years, and has accomplished more than any other leader since Gregory Illéa lead the war against the Russians. He had wanted to dissolve the castes, but with Grandpa and his allies breathing down his neck, threatening to undo all of the other progress, Dad let it go. The only caste that had been eliminated was Eight, or "the untouchables". While it saddened and frustrated my parents that the castes couldn't be completely dismantled, they helped improve many other things such as education, balancing the budget, and foreign policy.

Dad negotiated peace with New Asia, pulling our country out of the war. It's only been in recent years that tensions with New Asia have been rising. The Russian Confederation of New Asia rebelled two years ago, and has been engaged in a polarizing war. It seems like every day another country is dragged into the conflict. New Asia's determination to spread their borders even farther west devastated what used to be Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Turkey, and Ukraine. African and European countries have been watching in fear, wondering if the war will spread to their continent. There have been protests in Illéa recently, debating if we should continues to remain neutral. Some think that we can't stand by and watch as atrocities are committed, and some think we need to focus on our own country's problems before getting involved in global conflicts.

Illéa certainly has its own set issues, because for every war protest, there's a dozen more anit-caste protests. Twos, Threes, and Fours pitted against Fives, Sixes, and Sevens. The upper castes want everything to stay the same, the lower ones want equality. I've heard both sides of the argument shouted over family dinners, Grandpa insisting that the castes have helped us thrive and become so orderly, while Mom countered that they oppressed the people. It always ended in slamming doors and a feeling of emptiness. And things have only been getting worse...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **EADLYN**

"Eadlyn, which one do you like the best?" My grandmother asked me, holding up two different pieces of paper. I glanced up from my papers and pointed to the one on the right **.** Mom gave an exasperated sigh from her spot on the lush cream colored settee, and without looking up I knew that the corners of Grandma's lips were twitching.

"You didn't even look." I looked up from my work and pushed it slightly away from me, and I could tell my mother didn't like my exaggeration or the heated look I was giving her by the way her eyes went ablaze for a moment. Grandma continued to look at the two elegantly decorated papers, contemplation deepening the wrinkles on her delicate skin.

"I need to be prepared for my first meeting with the advisors, ball invitations can wait." I said as I played with the necklace around my neck. A square cut sapphire surrounded my small diamonds, fairly simple by royal standards but still elegant. Dad gave it to me the day he was coronated. I don't remember where Mom, Ahren, Kaden, or my grandparents were. I only remembered Dad opening the red velvet box, and the promise that he made.

Ahren had been let in on the meetings and briefings a long time ago. There was no expectation for me to join the meetings since all I ever did all day was receive guests or travel to planned public ceremonies. Occasionally I'll go on tours across the provinces of Illéa, but I've never done one solo. Ahren has always been with me, along with a dozen guards each at all times. He's been doing solo tours since we were sixteen.

"It's not for a ball, dear." Mom said, smoothing out her skirt and taking a sip of tea.

"It is for your brother's Selection." Grandma finished for her, and I stopped breathing. They were actually going through with it.

It had been just a suggestion from Grandpa at first. Ahren and Dad had brushed it off, and I even heard our parents agree that it solely Ahren's choice to hold a Selection while Grandpa was meeting with the Swendish Ambassador. But then something must have happened, because one day I found Ahren in his rooms, pacing back and forth. When I asked him what was troubling him he spilled that Dad's advisors and Grandpa were pushing heavily for Ahren to hold a Selection. That was the first time I've seen him cry since we were six. He retold his account of the meeting, it had originally started as a briefing on two rebel attacks in Honduragua, and quickly turned to him being ambushed. Dad had been blindsided too, but to Ahren's astonishment and dismay, he had agreed with Grandpa for once. I myself couldn't believe my ears that our Dad would agree to push Ahren into a Selection.

While my parents had the perfect fairy tale from their Selection, they were well aware that not everyone met their perfect match in a pool of thirty-five. Tragic mismatches have happened before them, and there are rumors of murder that my family has never publicly addressed. They never expected it from him, and he had never shown any interest in holding one. I only asked him once if he ever considered it, when we were thirteen.

We had been visiting the German Federation with our parents and grandparents on a whirlwind tour of Europe to keep relationships looking strong. We had been watching Prince Konrad try to court one of the Italian princesses, when his younger brother, Prince Albert brought up the Illéan tradition of princes holding Selections. He insisted that he'd much rather go out into the world and find his match than to be forced to pick a wife in front of his parents and the whole world. I had vehemently agreed, but Ahren stayed quiet. That's when I asked if he thought that one day he would ever hold a Selection. "Maybe." He had shrugged, "If Dad never held his Selection we wouldn't even exist, and they never would have found each other. I want what they have, and if holding a Selection gives me a chance at that, then maybe."

But his whole attitude towards holding a Selection changed when he did his first solo trip a few years ago. His tour from Morocco to Swendway had been a hit from the moment he landed. People loved Ahren no matter where he went. Girls and guys seemed weak at the knees when he was near, it were as if he were a rockstar. But when he reached the French Riveria, he achieved a whole new level of celebrity.

After being photographed with Quenn Daphne's daughter, Princess Camille, on a beach looking cozy in the surf, the paparazzi gobbled everything both of them did. And it didn't help when Prince Konrad took a tumble off his polo pony, causing the Germen leg of the trip to be canceled. Instead of continuing to Berlin, Ahren was invited to Paris, which only fueled rumors of a romance between him and Camille.

When I first saw the pictures of Ahren and Camille, I had laughed, unbelieving of it all. A romance between two heirs was a mistake waiting to happen. Either Camille gave up her title, and became the future Queen of Illéa, or Ahren gave up his titles and became the Prince Consort of France. It had worried Mom and Dad too, not wanting to see their oldest son throw away the chance to be King of Illéa all over a summer fling. But when Ahren had returned, he denied any relationship with the French princess or anyone for that matter. But I knew better. The way he couldn't seem to stomach any food, sang along to the radio, and staring off into the distance with a stupid gooey dreamy smile was the most obvious sign. He fell for her, and hard.

He finally professed his love for her to me less than a week after being home. We never kept anything from each other... or at least we, or I, used to. He had begged me not to tell a soul. I had laughed at his plea. Who was I going to tell? My chatty maids? Our family friend, Fynn, whom had moved to Carolina? I had no female friends in the palace, and spent most of my time studying or was being carted around from appointment to appointment. Kaden and Osten were too young to trust any secret with, and the Woodworks were not my favorite people at that time in history. His secret was perfectly safe with me as much as I resented it.

A maid burst in the doors with a large, elegant bouquet of roses. She was followed by five more maids, all with the same bouquet. They all curtsied to my mother and grandmother before addressing me.

"They are from the Swendish prince, your Royal Highness." One of them said. Mom and Grandma awwwed, thinking that the gesture was endearing, but I had to suppress a cringe. Yet another foreign prince that was trying to win my affection, and this one could barely put a sentence together in English...

In the past, the only other Illéan princess of the blood was shipped off to marry the Swendish monarch. I've never heard my family mention Princess Katherine, but I've read enough about her in history books to know her marriage was not a happy one. On their honeymoon it had looked like they had made a good match despite the large age gap, and they produced a beautiful daughter named Antonella. But their relationship quickly soured after a strange fever took their beloved daughter's life. They both did terrible things to each other, taking lovers and publicly acknowledging them at court, blackmailing each other. Until the day they both died, they despised each other.

My ancestor's fate terrified me. Would I be shipped off to a land where I knew no one, or couldn't even speak their language? Was my purpose just to be used as a prized breeding mare? Or would I actually be given responsibilities? Mom and Dad have tried to reassure me that they would never do such a thing, that I could either marry a foreign prince, or an Illéan citizen. I had a choice... a choice that my brother no longer had...

"They're lovely." I said with an even expression, not giving anything away. Mom looked at me from the corner of her eyes before telling the maids to place them on the long table by the window. They did as they were told before curtseying and leaving without a sound.

I was struck with a sudden thirst, picking up my tea and taking unladylike gulps. My throat had dried up at the reminder that Ahren was pobably crushed.

He's always had an incredible sense of duty to the crown, but being the picture perfect prince was only an allusion. Ahren could force a smile for the people of Illéa, even if he was dying inside. As much as Camille annoyed me, I was happy that Ahren had found someone that made him so blissfully happy. The thought of Camille becoming Queen of Illéa made my stomach do flips, but the stupid smile she brought to my twin's face smoothed out my discontent for her.

But there was no longer a chance of Camille becoming Ahren's queen…

"How thoughtful of Prince Henri to send you flowers before his visit." Grandma walked over, caressing one of the large roses delicately. The small movement looked so fluid and graceful, and the tiara in her hair glinted with the sunshine glowing through the windows. She was a true Illéan Queen; so calm, elegant, steadfast, and regal. I could see why Grandpa had fallen for her during his Selection all those years ago. Admittedly I realized Camille held all of these traits, but if Grandpa could find a girl to fit the mold, could Ahren do so too?

"Isn't it, Eaddy?" Mom asked, using my old nickname which made me flinch. The only exceptions that I allowed to use it now were my brothers. When I was younger everyone in my family called me that, but as I grew I began to resent being called my childhood name. I hated it, the name made me feel weak, more childish, and less powerful.

"Yes, so thoughtful." I agreed. I stood and walked to the window, only glancing down at them for a moment before looking through the glass. Outside, horses trotted up the path. Ahren and Kaden rode side by side, coming to a stop in front of a boy with long blonde hair that flopped down in his eyes, and trousers tucked into his leather riding boots.

They dismounted and the boy took the reins from them, leading Ahren's black stallion and Kaden's gentle grey speckled mare back down the path to the stables.

It was hard to control my breathing while looking at him, and I could only hope my face remained impassive. I desperately wanted him to turn and look in the window, to see me, and smile his adorable crooked smile. Instead, he looked up at the third floor, right at my balcony, and that was enough for a warm sensation to start in my chest and spread all over. I felt as if I were glowing, and from the toasty tingle on my cheeks I knew I was blushing.

He's the only son of Mom's best friend, Mrs. Woodwork. Miss Marlee is a sweet, angelic woman, and practically my second mother. Mom told me the full story of her lady's maid just recently. Up until that point all I had been told was that Miss Marlee had been in my father's Selection and that if anyone else was around, specifically Grandpa, I needed to call her Mallory. Any mention of the Woodworks was treason according to Grandpa.

She had come to the palace for my father's Selection, but had fallen in love with one of the palace guards. When they had been found out she was supposed to have been sentenced to death for her betrayal to the prince and the crown, but she and her lover were canned instead thanks to my mother intervening. Dad secretly set Miss Marlee up with a job in the kitchens and her new husband, Carter, in the stables. After my parents' marriage my mom secretly made Marlee her lady's maid. Then Kile was born.

As a baby he had been the only male allowed in the Women's Room. The small apartment above the stables was their home. Miss Marlee would bring him to my mother's chambers when she went there to help her begin and end her days. Because Mr. Woodwork was a Six, Miss Marlee was too, and his caste was also passed down to Kile. He started working at a young age, trying to do all he could to help his parents. He helped his dad in the stables, and even helped train some horses when he was a little older because of his natural talent with them.

I continued to stare at Kile walking away until there was a knock at the door.

A maid opened it, and standing there was a man in an expensive tailored suit and bronze hair slicked back with pomade named Charlie Bronswick, a Two. As much as I wished I could claim him to be dimwitted, I couldn't. Even I had to admire his abilities. One didn't become a royal advisor in their early twenties without being gifted and very ambitious. Although, I certainly wondered how much of that ambition was his, and how much of it was his family's.

Charlie is from one of the most influential families in Angeles, and they are openly lustful for power. The Bronswicks have been shamelessly shoving their son at me since my fifteenth birthday. He's wormed his way to the top through Grandpa. As much as I hate to admit it, he was extremely handsome. Striking hazel eyes and a strong jaw line. But even though he's only a few years older than me, it feels as if we're a lifetime apart. Most of my father's advisors are his age or older... expect Charlie. The mere thought of being touched by him repulsed me.

"Your Royal Highness, the meeting is about to begin." Charlie said with a smirk that I desperately wanted to slap off of his smug face. No doubt Grandpa had sent him to fetch me. "If your highness wishes, I would be glad to escort you."

From the corner of my eye I could see Mom roll her eyes. She also disapproved of Charlie, and my grandfather's backing of him.

I made no effort to hide my distasteful scowl and inhaled to decline his offer when I saw a flash of movement behind Charlie. I walked to the doorway and behind him was a heartbreakingly handsome guard. Officer Fynn Leger.

He was the spitting image of his father: black hair and a mysterious smile that practically screamed 'come hither'. The only trace of his mother, Lucy, were his striking blue eyes.

"Your Majesty." Fynn bowed to my mother without crossing the threshold of the doorway, not wanting to break the one rule of no men in the Women's Room. When his eyes met mine he silently apologized for not telling me that he was coming back to the palace.

Apparently he had already seen my mother because normally whenever Fynn visited she would embrace him in a hug no matter who was in the room or saw. "Your Highness, I heard there was a cabinet meeting about to begin and wondered if you needed an escort."

My slight resentment for him not telling me he was back disappeared and turned to gratitude for saving me from letting a string of nasty curses towards Charlie infect my grandmother's polite, delicate ears.

"I would love your company, Officer Leger." Charlie stepped aside, not looking happy at all as Fynn lifted his arm for me to take, and I wrapped min around it. "Perhaps another time, Mister Bronswick."

Before the butlers closed the doors I could see both Mom and Grandma trying and failing to hide their smiles. There was a little burst of laughter from Mom that made Charlie blush bright red before storming off ahead of us.

"Fynn Leger how dare you not tell me that you were coming for a visit." I scowled up at him once Charlie was far enough away.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't have a lot of time." He smirked and there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that I couldn't place. "And I'm no longer an officer."

I nearly stopped us in our tracks as I looked at his uniform. I don't know how I didn't notice it before, but there it was, his new lieutenant insignia shining bright on his uniform. "I believe congratulations are in order, _lieutenant_."

"Thank you, _your highness."_ Fynn said with a smirk, he knew I hated it when he called me that. I playfully smacked him on his arm and we continued down the hall.

"Where are your parents?" I picked up our pace a bit, feeling guilty for rushing when I haven't seen Fynn in such a long time, but I was eager to get to the meeting early.

"They won't be coming, I'm afraid." He said sadly.

" _What?_ " I shrieked, my voice bouncing off the gilded ceiling.

I've known the Legers my entire life, and for eleven years Fynn and the rest of the Legers had rooms on the same floor as my family, a singularly huge honor. But one day they had up and moved to Carolina without any explanation.

"I hope they visit soon, Mom and Dad would be so thrilled to see them." I said as we made our way up the stairs. "I would be too."

Aspen and Lucy Leger were two of my favorite people in world. Miss Lucy used to play tea party with me, General Leger used to push Ahren and me on the swings, and Fynn was always right there with us. He had grown up with us.

We tried to quickly catch up. I asked how his training was going, and he told me about how his commanding officer was thinking of recommending him for a special program. He asked about my younger brothers, Kaden and Osten, and I asked how many hearts he's broken since I last saw him.

As we reached the third floor a wave of nausea hit me. I felt everything I've ever read in preparation for this meeting escape my brain. Every chart, every graph, every statistic, and every proposal simply turned to dust. My fingertips felt ice cold as the blood drained from my head and I felt faint.

 _This can't be happening… This can't be happening…_

We round a corner and Fynn looked down and stopped, "Eadlyn, are you alright?"

My lips parted in an attempt to respond, but nothing came out. I felt like I couldn't breathe and my hands were beginning to shake. I don't know why I had ever thought I could prove everyone wrong, that I could do more than just smile for a photo.

"You can do this." He grabbed my shoulders, "You're Eadlyn Schreave, Princess of Illéa."

I took a deep breath, and tried to focus on everything that I was about to face in that room. I knew dad would ask Ahren what he thought, and then me. It was my shot to show them, Grandpa and all of the obnoxious advisors that I was more than just the spare to the heir… I am Eadlyn Schreave, Princess of Illéa.

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